


Snowbound: A Fandom Trope Revisited

by mithrel



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Blanket Permission, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Marooned, Podfic Welcome, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-23
Updated: 2009-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashir and Garak crash-land on a frozen planet, and Garak almost succumbs to hypothermia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowbound: A Fandom Trope Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> I was issued this challenge: "Garak and Bashir are, say, trapped on a world together. Maybe they went to a conference and were the victim of a little 'misunderstanding' along the way or something, and crashed. They have no phasers and the night is... rather cold. Whatever the convenient situation, our two end up sleeping in each other's arms for nights on end, and where up 'till now there had only been friendship (with potential) they each find themselves more fond of it than they had expected.
> 
> If they don't bring that out into the open there, when they're rescued (or get back on their own, which ever) one is walking the other to their quarters. It's late, and though neither mention it they both can't help but what it'll be like to sleep on their own again. When they get to whoever's apartment, they both want to say something. Maybe Julian calls Garak's name as he turns away and can't quite get the words out, and maybe Garak gets the message anyway and invites himself (or Bashir) inside for a drink.
> 
> They find out they're both 'on the same page', shall we say."

“So much for ‘search and rescue,’” Bashir said bitterly. “The Jem’Hadar didn’t leave anything _to_ rescue!”

“Really, Doctor, there’s nothing you can do about it,” Garak pointed out. “Besides, at least we found out what happened to the _Persephone._ ”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he complained, glaring across the runabout at the Cardassian.

Starfleet had lost contact with the science vessel _Persephone_ , which was on its way back from escort duty, two weeks ago. Since she was lost near Deep Space Nine, they asked Sisko to send someone to look for it. Bashir had gone to treat survivors, bringing two assistants with him, since the crew numbered about twenty, too many to treat on his own. Garak had come along to act as copilot and weapons officer, although they hoped not to come into actual contact with Dominion ships, since they’d be heavily outgunned. The _Defiant_ was needed to defend the station, so they had to hope they could stay out of visual range of any Dominion ships, and that the scrambling field O’Brien had rigged up would be effective.

Suddenly the runabout rocked. “Jem’Hadar?” Bashir shot at Garak.

“I don’t think so.” He peered at the readout. “I don’t believe this!”

“What?”

“We were hit by what looks like an asteroid.”

Bashir stared at him. “You’re joking!”

“Do I _look_ like I’m joking, Doctor?”

Ramirez, one of his aides, piped up, “We’re venting plasma! We’ll have to set down.”

“Where?” Ainsworth, the other aide, shot back at him. “There’s nothing nearby!”

He scanned the readout frantically. “There’s a planet ten thousand kilometers from here. It’s Class P. Mean surface temperature…negative six C.”

“Are you _crazy?_ ” Ainsworth demanded. “We’ll freeze!”

“Better that than exploding in space!” he retorted.

“He’s right,” Bashir said. “Garak, can we reach it in time?”

“If not, we won’t have to worry about freezing. It’s about to get _quite_ hot in here!”

Garak moved over to the copilot’s seat, and together they managed to reach the planet. By that time the bridge was filled with smoke, and consoles were sparking. Ainsworth screamed as her console exploded, throwing her to the floor.

Bashir forced himself to ignore her and set the ship down. They crashed in a spray of snow and rock, the bottom of the ship shearing away. His head hit the console.

He blacked out briefly, and when he came to, the first thing he did was check his condition. He had a bump on the head, hopefully not a concussion, and his left wrist felt like it had been injected with acid. He looked at it, and saw it was hanging at an unnatural angle. Broken. Great. At least he could fix that fairly easily if he got his hands on a regenerator, and it was his non-dominant hand.

He went to Ainsworth first. She was unconscious, with severe burns on her face and torso. “Garak?”

He heard a groan from the floor near the copilot’s seat, then Garak hauled himself to his feet. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Are you all right?”

“Bruised and battered, but otherwise fine.”

“Could you get the medkit from the back, please?”

Garak nodded, and limped to the back of the runabout. While he was getting the medkit, Bashir checked on Ramirez. He was dead, his chest sliced by a piece of shrapnel. Bashir stared at him for a long moment, numb, before his training took over. There was nothing he could do for Ramirez, but Ainsworth was still alive.

“The medkit.” Garak handed it to him.

“We’re still venting plasma,” Bashir said, as he worked to stabilize her. “We need to find shelter. Could you get the ration packs and the emergency beacon? And bring all the blankets you can carry, we’ll need them.”

Garak nodded and went back into the back. By the time he got back, carrying the beacon; the backpack with the rations, phasers, sleeping bags and bedrolls; and another with the blankets, Bashir had gotten Ainsworth stabilized and used the regenerator on his wrist. “Help her.”

While Garak got Ainsworth’s arm over his shoulder and took the medkit and survival pack, Bashir put on the backpack with the blankets, and hoisted the beacon under one arm. He took out his tricorder to try to find any nearby shelter.

They exited the runabout into a blizzard. Bashir squinted at the tricorder. “There’s a cave about twenty meters that way!” he shouted above the wind. “Come on!”

Garak had trouble. At first Bashir thought that it was because he was helping Ainsworth, but soon realized there was something else wrong. He did his best to help him, and they finally made it to the cave.

It was made of what looked like granite, the opening only a bit above their heads, but the cave itself extended back about ten meters, and the ceiling was too high for them to reach. Garak managed to deposit Ainsworth on an outcropping before falling to the ground. Alarmed, Bashir ran over to him and scanned him. He knew from the medical files that normal Cardassian temperature was thirty eight degrees Celsius. Because of the colder temperature on the station, Garak’s temperature was normally around thirty seven point five. But now his temperature had plummeted to thirty four degrees.

He took out his phaser and heated some of the rocks nearest Garak, and wrapped him in a blanket while he got the sleeping rolls out. He spread the bedrolls on the floor so their body heat wouldn’t leach away, then unrolled the sleeping bags, and after a moment’s thought, connected them, making one large bag rather than two small ones.

He went over to Garak, picked him up, and put him in the sleeping bag, then spread all the extra blankets on top of him, and heated the rocks nearby and the floor of the cave around the bedrolls. He went to check on Ainsworth. The cold on top of her earlier burns had been too much, and she was dead. Bashir stared at her unseeingly. He was cold, exhausted and in pain, he was marooned on a barely habitable planet, two of the three other people who were with him were dead, and he wasn’t sure the third would survive. He wanted to cry, scream, attack something, but he pulled himself together and activated the emergency beacon. It was the only chance they had of being rescued.

He looked at the ration packs. There were enough to last four people for two weeks, but with the cold he and Garak would need to eat twice as much, so it wouldn’t last them any longer. There was only one canteen, but water at least wouldn’t be a problem. They could melt snow if they had to. He picked it up and shook it. It went _swish-clunk._ The water was starting to freeze. That was no good. He set the canteen on top of the heated rocks to melt the ice.

He went over to Garak. The Cardassian lay in the sleeping bags, his skin ashen. He was huddled in a fetal position, but wasn’t shivering. That was a bad sign. Bashir did the only thing he could do. He toed off his boots, and climbed in beside Garak. He did his best to warm him up, holding him against him to transfer his own body heat to the Cardassian. He was unconscious, and Bashir finally felt the situation sink in. They could both die here. He buried his face in Garak’s shoulder and cried.

@*@*@

He only realized he had fallen asleep when he woke to find Garak stirring. The Cardassian opened his eyes and looked at him. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking at him. He looked a bit better, his skin closer to its normal color.

“Cold,” Garak whispered.

“I know. I’m doing what I can.” Bashir tried to slip out of the blankets, but Garak clutched feebly at him. “No.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he promised. “I need to get the ration packs.”

Exhausted by his efforts, Garak lay back.

Trying to let as little of their combined body heat escape as he could, Bashir retrieved the ration packs and the canteen, then reheated the rocks. When he returned to the bed, Garak wrapped himself around him immediately. “Cold.”

Bashir stroked his back. “Here,” he said, handing him a ration bar.

He pushed it away. “N’t h’ngry.”

“Maybe not, but you need the energy. Eat.”

Garak managed to eat half the ration bar before sinking back. Bashir checked the water temperature with his tricorder. Since it had been on the rock, it was twenty three degrees. It wouldn’t do much for Garak’s thirst, but it would help warm him up. Cold water would probably kill him. He opened the canteen and held it to his lips and Garak drank.

He nestled in Bashir’s arms again, and Bashir gritted his teeth. _Get ahold of yourself, dammit, this is a life-and-death situation, he’s in danger of freezing! Don’t do anything stupid!_

“Wh’t happ’nd?”

“You collapsed after we got here. Your body temperature was extremely low, so I did what I could to warm you up. I heated some of the rocks with my phaser; I’ll need to do it again periodically.

Garak nodded, his eyes glazed. Bashir wasn’t sure he’d understood him. “Tired,” he whispered.

“Then sleep,” he told him. Garak sighed, snuggled closer, and was asleep in seconds. It took much longer for Bashir to sleep.

@*@*@

Over the next three days Bashir only left the sleeping bag to relieve himself or reheat the rocks. He’d removed Ainsworth’s body from the cave. There didn’t seem to be any scavengers on this planet, so they would be safe enough. He kept the ration packs and canteen close enough to reach without moving. They had enough food to last for a while, though he’d had to refill the canteen with melted snow. The thing he was worried about was that he’d already exhausted the power cell on one of the four phasers, and another was half-gone. He shuddered to think what would happen when they were all dead.

Garak only moved to go to the bathroom. Bashir had to help him each time, and each time his temperature plummeted. He spent most of his time in a semiconscious torpor because of the cold. There was no sign of rescue, even though they were overdue.

Bashir was having his own problems. His mind knew that they were both in danger of freezing, and that they had to stay close together for warmth. His body, however, had other ideas about the close contact with Garak, and it was becoming harder and harder to control his reaction.

The morning of the fourth day he woke up to find Garak plastered against him, and realized with horror that he was hard. _Oh God, don’t let this be happening, not now!_ And then Garak stirred.

He hastily distanced himself from the Cardassian, but Garak looked confused, and reached out. “Wha…”

 _Oh God, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening…_ But it was. Garak was in his arms again, and then he was suddenly looking at him with a far clearer expression than he’d had since they left the runabout. “You…”

He wrenched himself away, but Garak grabbed him. “Don’t go.”

“Garak…”

“Need the heat.”

He was right of course; he’d freeze on his own, so Bashir shoved his embarrassment away, told his body to behave, and took hold of him again. It was worth a little awkwardness to save Garak’s life.

Garak fell asleep soon after, and Bashir wondered what would happen if… _when_ they were rescued. He’d kept his attraction to the Cardassian a secret for years, and now it was out. He’d have loved to have Garak in his arms for days, if only the circumstances were different. But it would never happen. He’d made the mistake of not only being attracted to Garak–he’d fallen in love with him, and he’d realized that if he wanted to keep his friendship, he could never give any sign. He was capable of keeping secrets, if they were important enough, and somehow he’d managed. But now his secret was out.

@*@*@

The next day he was awakened by Major Kira’s voice. “ _Defiant_ to Bashir.”

Shaking off sleep, he responded. “Major! Am I glad to hear your voice!”

“Are you all right, Doctor?”

“I’m fine, but Ramirez and Ainsworth are dead, and Garak’s in pretty bad condition.”

“We’ll beam you to the medical bay. Stand by.”

They materialized in the medical bay, and Nurse Jabara quickly took Garak over to a biobed, while Nurse Bandee helped him sit down on another.

He brushed her off. “I’m fine, I’m fine, take care of Garak.”

“He’s got an extreme case of hypothermia,” Jabara reported. “All four extremities are suffering from frostbite, and his blood’s partially gelled because of the cold. It’s caused some damage to his liver and kidneys.”

“Will he live?” Bashir asked, approaching the biobed.

“I don’t know.” She glared at him. “Doctor, you’re in no condition to help, so _sit down!_ ”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied sarcastically, and went and sat on a nearby biobed. He took out a spare regenerator and healed the frostbite on his hands and feet, then sat impatiently, watching Bandee and Jabara work on Garak.

Finally, after applying thermal blankets, and hooking him up to an IV drip of a warmed saline solution, they stepped back. “He’s stabilized for now,” Bandee reported. “Now let’s look at you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are!”

He looked at her in some amusement. “You know, I do outrank you.”

“Ah, yes, excuse me. Like hell you are, _sir!_ ”

Bashir couldn’t stifle a snort. “This is insubordination.”

“Damn right it is. Now sit still and let me look at you. I saw you healing the frostbite on your extremities, so don't tell me you're fine!”

She ran the tricorder over him. “Hmm, your temperature’s still lower than it should be, it looks like you have a mild concussion and you’re dehydrated, but other than that and the frostbite, you seem fine.”

Bashir refrained from saying “I told you so” only with great difficulty.

She ran a regenerator over his head. “You should go drink something hot, get some rest.”

“I’ve been sitting in one place for four days!”

“No arguments, Doctor. We won’t reach the station until tomorrow. You should rest until then.”

His gaze flicked to Garak. Bandee’s eyes softened. “I’ll call you if anything changes, I promise.”

Bashir nodded reluctantly. “All right.”

@*@*@

He went to the mess hall and ordered a cup of Tarkalean tea, then went back to his quarters and lay down, but he didn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Garak. _Please, God, don’t let him die._

His door buzzed. Surprised, he sat up. “Come in.”

Miles O’Brien stepped into his quarters. “Miles! What are you doing here?”

He snorted. “I came to see if you’re all right, idiot.”

“I’m fine, but Garak wasn’t so lucky. I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Miles grumbled something in which “Cardie” was the only understandable word, then made an effort and said,“Sorry. I know you’re friends with him.”

Bashir shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Miles, I know you and he have never gotten along.”

Miles coughed and said softly, “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Bashir smiled at him, for once not giving him a hard time. “Thanks.”

@*@*@

Once they got back to the station, Bashir went back to work, but he spent most of his time thinking about Garak, and checked on him whenever he didn’t have patients.

Garak regained consciousness two days after their return, and when that happened Bashir retreated to his office, letting the nurses handle the Infirmary until he was discharged.

Once Garak was discharged, Bashir did everything he could to avoid him. He ate in his quarters, rather than at Quark’s or the Replimat. He had to pass fairly near the Promenade, since the Infirmary was in the same part of the station, and he couldn’t very well stop working. Luckily, Garak’s shop was some distance down, and he managed to avoid him by sneaking in early and leaving late.

This worked for three days. On the fourth day, as he was heading back to his quarters at the end of the day he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Ah, Doctor!”

His heart sank. “Hello, Garak.” The tailor seemed fully recovered, and he was smiling as if nothing had happened. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well, thank you, Doctor.” Garak was acting as though Bashir hadn’t been avoiding him at all, but he knew better. The Cardassian’s face abruptly turned serious. “Doctor, may I speak with you? In private?”

Shit. Well, what could he say? “Of course.” And, squaring his shoulders, he followed the tailor.

@*@*@

They ended up in Garak’s quarters. Bashir sat in a chair and fidgeted, as Garak went to the replicator and ordered Rokassa juice. “Can I get you anything, Doctor? Tarkalean tea?”

“No, I’m fine,” Bashir mumbled. _Hah! I don’t think I’ve ever been_ less _fine!_

Garak sat down on a chair near him. “I wanted to thank you, Doctor.”

Bashir was taken aback. This was not what he’d expected. “Thank me? For what?”

“This makes twice that you’ve saved my life,” Garak said quietly.

“Ah. Well. Ah…you’re welcome,” Bashir managed.

“I must say, Doctor, you’ve done quite a good job of putting me in your debt. There’s hardly anything I can do to repay you.”

Bashir bristled. “Garak, if you think the only reason I–”

Garak cut him off. “No, of course not, Doctor, forgive me. But the fact remains, I owe you my life twice over.”

“Garak, you don’t owe me anything–”

“On the contrary, Doctor,” Garak cut him off again. “On Cardassia, a favor given requires a favor in return. I’ve been extremely careful about the debts I incur, and always repaid them as soon as possible. It wouldn’t do to owe anyone any favors.”

Recalling what he knew of Garak’s past, Bashir supposed he understood that. An agent of the Obsidian Order would hardly want anyone else to have leverage over him, and owing Bashir without having any way to repay the debt must make him very uncomfortable. As far as Bashir was concerned he didn’t owe him anything, but… _If he really wants to repay the debt, I could…_ He ruthlessly squashed the half-formed thought. That would not only be immoral and unethical, it really would destroy their friendship.

“I’ll see if I can think of anything.” He paused, nervously. “Was that all?”

“Actually no. There was one other thing.”

Well, nothing for it. Garak was going to confront him about what happened. He took a deep breath and prepared to face the music. “Yes?”

“The day before we were rescued, you–”

Bashir interrupted him, unable to hear him say it. “It was just a physiological response, Garak, it didn’t mean anything! We were in a life-and-death situation, and in close contact, it was only natural!”

Garak looked at him searchingly, then nodded. “I see.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No need to apologize, Doctor, as you said, it was merely a physiological response.”

Bashir gave a relieved sigh, unable to believe Garak was letting him off the hook so easily. “It’s late. I should go.”

Garak nodded. “Oh, and Doctor…”

Bashir turned back to him again, apprehensively. “Yes?”

“I would appreciate it if you had lunch with me tomorrow.”

Surprised, Bashir smiled. “Of course!”

@*@*@

When he went to lunch with Garak the next day it was awkward at first, almost as much as their first conversation all those years ago, but he soon relaxed. They started having lunch more regularly; in the past year or so he’d hardly seen Garak, but now they started having lunch once a week again. Bashir wondered about that. He also wondered about the fact that Garak seemed to be…well, flirting with him. It was nothing he could pinpoint, and half the time he was sure he was imagining it, but it started him thinking. Then there was the conversation they had a few weeks after being rescued.

“Tell me, Doctor, is it normal for humans to be aroused in dangerous situations?”

Bashir choked on his soup, and once he’d stopped coughing, he looked around the Replimat, face burning, to see if anyone had overheard. No one was paying attention. “Garak!”

“Yes, Doctor?” The tailor looked at him innocently.

“That’s hardly a subject to discuss in mixed company!”

“Why not?” he inquired mildly. “We’ve discussed nearly everything else.”

“But…”

“Oh, come, Doctor, don’t tell me humans have some taboo about discussing sex.”

 _Cardassians don’t?_ “As a matter of fact, we do, at least in public.”

“Even in the abstract?”

Bashir looked at him suspiciously. He seemed to be merely innocently curious, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that suggested he was enjoying Bashir’s discomfiture. “I’d rather not!”

“Why, Doctor, I had no idea you were such a prude!”

“I am not a prude!” Bashir protested, so loudly that several people looked at him curiously. He slumped in his seat and tried to make himself invisible. Honestly, he wasn’t. But the thought of discussing sex with Garak, even in the abstract…

“Then why not answer the question?”

He had no choice. “Yes, it’s fairly common. It’s an evolutionary response, to make sure your genes are passed on.”

“Interesting. But surely,” Garak added, “it would be ineffective; after all whoever the person is attempting to mate with is in the same situation.”

Bashir’s brow furrowed. “That’s true; I never thought of that.”

“And this response holds even if there are no individuals of the opposite sex nearby?”

They were treading on dangerous ground now. “I guess so,” he said uncomfortably, then went on the offensive. “Cardassians don’t have that instinct?”

“No, we don’t. Even if we did, the cold meant I would have been unable to react.”

Garak seemed to mean something beyond what he actually said, as he usually did, but Bashir had no clue what it was. After that the conversation turned to other subjects, but Bashir couldn’t help wondering what prompted that exchange.

@*@*@

Garak was beginning to drive Bashir to distraction. He’d always been infuriating, but now the uncertainty was making it impossible. Half the time he was sure Garak was attracted to him; the other half he was sure he was hallucinating. Nearly two months after they’d been rescued, he decided to find out for sure.

He invited Garak to his quarters for lunch, rather than eating in the Replimat. If Garak thought that was odd, he didn’t say anything.

After they’d finished eating and were sitting in chairs in his quarters, Bashir decided to try to find out whether Garak was attracted to him, although he still wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. “Garak, about what happened on the planet…”

The Cardassian looked surprised. “Doctor, are you still worried about that? I told you, I’m not offended. As you said, it was just a physiological response.”

A physiological response. A physiological response. Bashir wished he had never said those words, since now they stood between him and a confession, and he couldn’t very well take them back. He tried another tack.

“Garak, I’ve noticed that since we got back our conversations have been more…intense.”

“Have they? I hadn’t noticed, but you may be right. Certainly there’s nothing more I enjoy than an...intense conversation.”

There it was again, that subtle innuendo; nothing he could pinpoint definitively, but nonetheless there. He was abruptly fed up. “Why can’t you ever just say what you mean?!”

Garak looked briefly surprised at his outburst, then smiled and said, “You wouldn’t find me half so intriguing if I did.”

He was right, and Bashir knew it, but that only made him angrier. He glared at Garak, who seemed smug. “You goddamn…you…you…” He couldn’t think of an insult vitriolic enough, so instead he flung himself at Garak and kissed him on the mouth, hard.

Garak seemed taken aback, but didn’t push him away. Bashir held the kiss long enough to make his point, some part of him screaming that he was an idiot, then pulled back, glaring at Garak so fiercely that he was sure sparks were shooting from his eyes.

To his astonishment, Garak smirked at him. “Why, Doctor, I do believe you’ve finally got the point.”

His rage drained away, to be replaced by bewilderment. “What?”

“I must say, I’m surprised. That was a very Cardassian reaction. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Bashir shook his head. “Garak, what are you talking about?”

“For all our conversations, and all the literature you’ve read, you still have some shocking gaps when it comes to Cardassian culture.” He paused, then continued, “I suppose it’s my fault, really. After all, I can’t expect you to know about things you’ve never been exposed to, and none of the novels I gave you to read involved courting.”

“Courting?!” _Is he saying what I think he’s saying?_

“Yes, Doctor. Courting. It was remiss of me; no wonder you never responded to my advances; you didn’t recognize them as such.”

 _’Advances?!’_ What _advances? He never…_

“Doctor, do you recall our first meeting?”

He did, vividly. After he’d got over the fact that “the spy” had approached him, he’d been sure Garak had been flir…

His reaction must have shown on his face, because Garak nodded. “Precisely. As a rule, Cardassians don’t engage in casual touching except between family members or lovers, but I’ve touched you on several occasions. I even put my hands on your shoulders when we first met.”

Bashir blinked. “That’s significant?” He’d thought there was something…predatory about the gesture at the time, but had dismissed it.

Garak shook his head in mock consternation. “Really, I can’t believe I allow someone with no knowledge of Cardassian anatomy to act as my physician!”

Bashir bridled. “I know Cardassian anatomy!” _I might not be an expert, but I know enough to treat most diseases he might come down with!_

Garak folded his arms. “Not enough. Cardassian necks are one of our most erogenous zones.”

Bashir stared at him, his mouth falling open, then managed, “Oh.”

“Not to mention all the discussions and arguments we’ve had.”

“So?”

Garak gave a long-suffering sigh. “Cardassians have a long history of rhetoric and oratory, and we often engage in discussion. Because of our more confrontational nature, we consider actual arguments to be a form of,” he paused. “What’s the word? Ah, yes…foreplay!”

“ _What?!_ ” If Bashir hadn’t been sitting down, he’d have fallen over in shock.

“Why do you think I always tried to provoke you?”

“Well, I just assumed you enjoyed getting under my skin.”

Garak gave a slow smile. “Precisely.”

Under his skin… “I don’t believe this!”

“Is it really so hard to believe that I might be attracted to you?”

“Is that all it is?” Bashir demanded quickly.

Garak looked surprised, and uncomfortable. “At first it was.”

“And now?” Bashir pressed, when he didn’t continue.

“It’s not.”

Bashir snorted. “So you’re saying you have feelings for me?”

Garak refused to look at him. “Yes.”

Bashir walked over to him, and took his chin in his hands. “Garak, look at me.”

He did, and Bashir saw the fear of rejection in his eyes. His heart constricted, and he stroked his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known…”

“Have you ever known me to tell you anything personal without a fight, Doctor?”

Bashir recognized a defense mechanism when he heard one, and let go of him. “No, of course not.” He smiled at him. “But I’m glad I know now. I was terrified you’d hate me if you found out I was in love with you.”

Garak reeled as if he’d been struck. “You’re _what?!_ ”

“In love with you,” Bashir repeated. “I may not know everything you did, but you’ve never done anything to hurt me, and I don’t think you would.” He paused. “I don’t think you could.”

“I couldn’t.” Garak looked at him in something like wonder. “You’re really in love with me?”

“Yes.”

Garak wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed him, so tenderly Bashir was sure that he loved him back, even if he’d never admit it.


End file.
